Meet the Locovores
When Cochon 555—the five pigs, five chefs, five winemakers competition that travels around the country—came to NYC, people ate pork and blogged about it.
When Cochon 555 came to Portland (my love-hate hometown) strip clubs were involved (not sure if it's true but travel writers always like pointing out that the city has the highest number of tittie bars per capita) bones were fractured, heads were butted, arrests were made. And supposedly over the winning pig being from Iowa. Locavore rage! The only thing missing are vegan militants on fixed gear bikes crashing the party. Compost or die!
When I first moved here, I would often catch myself saying, "That's so New York." Twelve years later and I still don't understand why you get a straw, napkin and a bag for a soda or why people who think it's a good idea to eat fried chicken on-the-go throw the bones on the sidewalk instead of in a garbage can, but lately I find myself thinking "That is so Portland" with alarming frequency.
Image from Brownie Points
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